Time Changes Everything
by Mundane Matthew
Summary: Reflections of a tired genius. Requested.


The flickering glow of the fire cast eerie shadows around the room, giving the furniture, like the ceiling high shelves, the piles of books, even the desks and chair. Had it been any other person, their mind might have warped them to be monstrous beasts. But not to him. Not much scared him anymore. Not much ever did. In all his years, he had seen it all. He had lived it all.

Near passed a trembling hand through his soft and thin white hair, and leaned his head back against the rough cushion of the recliner, frowning.

As the fire's light flourished, and the wood popped and crackled as it burned, he looked around at what would remain long after he was gone, and felt his stomach fall lower.

His entire life's work was in here, his study, his solitary place in a world where he was already plenty alone. It was in boxes, in thick and thin notebooks piled messy along the floor. It, like the house, was only a material possession, and they both, as he was, would fade away and become forgotten.

Who would remember him in twenty years? He was a faceless, nameless man. Just a letter, some crime fighting, case solving, police hating man. He had replaced another unknown man, and one day, soon, one would replace him.

As his tired eyes scanned the room, they fell upon the large, dusty wooden desk underneath the window, with its one broken leg propped up with books, and small drawer, whose contents would be difficult to explain.

After all, how could he explain tightly wrapped hard candies, when he never indulged in sweets? Or a singed plastic handheld, when he'd never touched a game other than chess? There would be no explaining a dainty silver rosary, beads and cross stained partly red, when he had not set foot in a church in many years, and had never been a religious man.

He laughed bitterly, and shifted in the chair, his aching bones never giving him a moment's relief.

How long had it been since he felt no pain, dreamt of anything but shadowed faces and angry shouts? How long had it been since he had known peace? Had he ever known it?

Perhaps at a time he had.

Back when his mentor roamed, visiting whether it was scheduled or not, with sweets to give and stories of his amazing work. When his first friend would shuffle over and sit next to him, thumbs gliding over and smashing buttons on a tiny plastic machine. When puzzles and toys weren't safe from a pretty blonde menace, a pretend enemy, the greatest friend, his first and only almost-lover, he'd ever had.

When things were simpler, and easier.

That was before justice failed. Ironic it was that he was working in that area. Near had never quite recovered from how it had failed and allowed the best to fall.

He remembered that one case well. Of course he did. It had brought him to where he was now. It nearly took his life, and it had already claimed many others.

So many had fought to bring the man- the boy - down, friends, lovers, all dead because of some young man's warped and corrupt mind.

Despite victory, and the partying, the cheering that went on when the case was closed, solved, and the tragedy over. Despite how the people could mourn their dead and begin to lead normal lives once again, Near felt only a great sense of loss.

Justice had succeeded, yes. But at too great a cost.. and it had failed the people who trusted most in it already.

His faith shaken, Near had closed himself into the study. It had been the first time in the old house that he'd even set foot in there. Normally he'd always send an assistant to put the case files away there, and back then the desk with its dusting contents was in his bedroom.

After that night, he became an even bigger recluse, and spent hours upon hours holed up in the room, in the same chair he rested in now, with soft fire crackling nearby.

For a time, he'd lost his mind, at least it was what he figured now, years later. He would sit aside the desk, and count the candies, whose wrappers had begun to fade, masquerading their flavors, and pressing buttons on a game that would never work again. He'd held the rosary like a dying priest, and just stared towards the window.

Eventually, as life around him was doing, he had to pick up and move on. And so he did.

As his eyes lingered on the desk, a loud snap from the flames drew him back to the embers, and the old clock beside it.

It was late. Tomorrow was his eight second birthday, and he was sure there would be just that many files on his desk. Though perhaps he could partake in a small glass of brandy before-

"Near?"

He hadn't even heard the knock on the door, or even the squealing wood for that matter.

"Hm?"

"It's rather late.. you won't want to be falling asleep at the party."

"No, I suppose not.. are the cases filed and put away?"

"Yes, everything is in order, Sir... oh, and Near?"

"Yes?"

".. Happy Birthday."

Near grunted lightly in response as he pulled himself up from the chair. He shuffled across the room, throwing one last glance at the desk, and turned round to face his successor. "Yes.. it will be."


End file.
